Lose As Much
by The Musical Jedi
Summary: A look at QuiGon's training, as well as his impressions on a young ObiWan Kenobi. ON HIATUS PENDING REVISION ONCE WfA IS FINISHED
1. Default Chapter

I always feel a little cheesy explaining stories, but this one at least needs some kind of preface. Over on TF.N, there is a wonderful series of vignettes written by an excellent author by the penname of CYNICAL21. The series is called **Freeze Frames** and deals with stories of Obi-Wan's, and to a lesser degree, Qui-Gon's involvement of, life in the Temple from cradle to purge. CYN put an idea in my head regarding my favorite Master. After writing a few abortive attempts at a story concerning this obnoxious plot bunny, I've found a way to put it into a story. As you can probably guess, this is it. ;) Also, CYNICAL21 has a number of Star Wars fiction works here on FF.N. I highly recommend you check them out.   
  
Of course, this universe isn't mine. George Lucas created it all, and I make no money on these typings. They are merely a kind of cartharsis, for I am a poor college student who can't afford proper therapy, assuming it would be more effective than this. Thanks for the foundations, George.   
  
Feedback is welcome and, in fact, encouraged. Conventions are consistent throughout and will make themselves apparent as they go; I won't insult you by explaining them.   
  
This is for CYNICAL21. Thanks for the idea, but more importantly, thank you for your encouragement.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
**Lose As Much**   
Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death. - Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey, _A Woman of Independent Means_   
  
**Chapter One - The Dark**   
  
From the Private Journal of Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master:   
  
_Time, it seems, serves to highlight certain patterns in one's life. It works to bring out the reasons for one's actions and make it obvious how deliberate the path from where you once were to where you are really is.   
  
In my experience, however, there is no truth to the old adage that time heals all wounds.   
  
The Council has sent me away again. I suppose I could pretend that I am as impenetrable as the Temple itself, but self-delusion is a brand of arrogance I've never been fond of. They think they do me a favor by allowing me to quit those halls where I stood with him, where I thought I knew him – where I thought he loved me as much as I loved him.   
  
I bide my time and follow their pointing fingers when they say go – but I'm not so confident that it is any better or worse for me than staying there. Here is just as pleasant as the Temple – which is to say not very – due to the fact that I can see in my memories what I did wrong. You can try to temper the mistakes of your elders with your own life, but it's a shallow promise that you'll do better than this method will keep you from devising your own unique mistakes.   
  
Yoda was actually the one who gave me my orders. It was a simple test-and-fetch, the investigation of a child whose parents believe he might have the makings for a Jedi.   
  
Or, in this case, parent.   
  
It was an odd, although not completely uncommon, situation. The mother held her small son, a boy of about a year and a half, only three months shy of being too old to be taken under the Temple wing. He was wrapped in a blanket, his thin clothes little protection against the chill night air of the Mid-Rim planet Op'cli. She was slender and attractive, if obviously a little malnourished for the benefit of her small burden.   
  
Her eyes were luminous, a deep jade that caught what few light banks lined her street. She glanced around furtively, as though expecting danger to appear at any second and snatch her child away before she could entrust him to my care.   
  
The woman introduced herself as Se'scen Kenobi and ushered me inside her small dwelling, where I could do the testing. As I probed his Force abilities and took a midichlorian count, she told me the story of her son's birth.   
  
There was only one land mass, which isn't very large, on Op'chi. The land is ruled by one family from the five royal houses who attempt to breed their firstborns at the same time, so as to produce five heirs to contend for control when the reigning monarch eventually dies. The families accomplish this by raiding the villages of the most attractive twelve-year-olds when the firstborn turns twelve. One of each is selected by a judge from each of the about 500 villages, which are divided between the houses. These children are then taken back to the palaces of the families to undergo training and grooming for the mate of a potential monarch.   
  
It was at this point I began to see the beauty in her face and form as she spoke. Se'scen's hair was the same burnished color of her son's, and although it was pulled back tightly from her face, it was highlighted in fiery oranges, yellows, and reds whenever the light from the room caught it. She was graceful and fluid in her movements, gesturing delicately as she spoke. My suspicion was, however, that her eyes were the feature that caught the judge's eye. As she looked around, the color almost shifted, making a myriad of hues in the small iris. They seemed to internally shine, lit from the Force itself.   
  
Her son has those eyes, only a rich cerulean to her deep jade.   
  
The girls were taught many things as befitting their newly acquired stations, including methods of pleasing, both sexually and otherwise, their potential mate. Se'scen, however, fell in love with one of the firstborn's guards when she was nineteen years old. The firstborn was to be married on his twentieth birthday, and by tradition, the woman would not be chosen until the night before. The family and the son had to discuss between the girls which would be the most fitting wife.   
  
Se'scen was announced as one of the top choices the night she discovered she was carrying the guard's child. Such a scandal would instantly be dealt with in a swift but quiet beheading, so the burnished haired woman planned an escape. She disappeared three days later by garbing herself as a servant and slipping out one of the servant entrances. She never told her love that she was leaving.   
  
Travel was not terribly difficult, although Se'scen soon became frequently sick as a combination of a typical human response to pregnancy and her difficulty in finding food. She eventually found her way to a medium-sized village of about 500 people controlled by another royal family.   
  
Se'scen made her living here in mending clothes and cleaning other peoples' dwellings. The village folk were friendly to her and not overly inquisitive. However, the price for their silence was to live on the outskirts, relatively alone. I got the feeling that it was a price she was willing to pay, all things considered, but that she missed the intimacy of her love and the other women she'd left behind.   
  
The young woman bore her son alone and had contacted the Jedi Temple through a series of untraceable contacts, still afraid of being discovered by the royal families, angry at losing one of their women. She was slightly Force-sensitive, having been tested herself as a child and not found strong enough to be taken as an initiate, and could sense that her son was as well.   
  
I handed her son back to her, telling her that he was one of the most Force-sensitive children I had ever encountered. And the child was.   
  
He had a high midichlorian count, although still within the range customary to human children. However, the Force thrummed around him, creating what I can only describe as a kind of halo around him, something that couldn't be explained away simply by the count. Something about this child attracted the Force, like the ertmoths of Coreillia to a flame. He had his mother's beauty, as well as a Force-essence that was breath-taking. I told her as much.   
  
Se'scen smiled faintly, although it was obvious the gesture was not quite genuine. "I suppose that means you'll want to take Ben with you, Master."   
  
I nodded slowly, telling her that it was her decision, in the end.   
  
She sat still for a long time, cradling her child close, murmuring something in his ear that I could neither hear nor completely understand. I believe she was speaking a native tongue to her village. I know it wasn't the Obchi tongue. He sat calmly in her lap, as he had when I had held him, regarding her with those eyes. When she fell silent, he buried his head in her shoulder, clutching at his arms with small, chubby hands. She stood, holding him this way, and told him, "Be brave, my Obi-Wan. You will be a great man and a great Jedi. Remember, I will always love you."   
  
Then she gave him to me. As I held the child, her Obi-Wan, to my chest, she put a small hand behind my head and guided my forehead to her lips. They felt unnaturally warm against my skin, and slightly moist. When she pulled away, she cradled my large chin in her slender fingers. "Watch after my son, Master Jedi," she whispered, searching my eyes frantically with her jade, "guide him and guard him as though he were your own, and the Force will protect you and the Great One bless you." Se'scen then kissed my lips, a gesture to seal the blessing she had given me, should I fulfill the request she had laid upon my shoulders.   
  
Now, he still lies against my chest, snuggled against the tunic, loosely wrapped in my darker outer robe. His eyes have long since closed in sleep, so I could put him to bed in one of the bunks. That seems too cold, though, too impersonal. In a fit of sentimentality I didn't know I was capable of, I'm enjoying the warmth he puts off, and I don't want to put him down just yet.   
  
My mind turns, even though I wish it wouldn't, thinking of another little boy brought, one who was attractive and strong in the Force. Xanatos's icy blue eyes are before me, framed by his dark eyebrows and even darker hair. However, his coming wasn't so sweet or so easy, if such a thing ever is. His father debated for long hours before finally begrudging the Jedi his son. Xanatos was older as well, old enough that he would remember his father as a perfect man, distorted in a child's memory to compensate for the hardships of his upbringing, the failings of his caretakers.   
  
Has it been nine months already since I was Telos? It doesn't seem like it's been that long. I've tried to stay busy in the Temple when I could, and as far away from it when I couldn't. Most of the Masters and Knights don't see the pain any more, it faded with their memory of my former padawan, but I know Yoda still can. I suspect that my Master would be able to as well, if he were still in the Temple, although his response wouldn't be nearly as compassionate as his Master's. Master Dooku always had a profoundly powerful ability to narrow in on that which pained you most deeply. It made him a master in the political arena.   
  
Yoda simply waits, watching with those wide, all-seeing eyes. Waiting for me to come.   
  
I stay away though. I have my reasons.   
  
[Rustle of fabric and a soft exhalation]   
  
The little one stirs, bringing back to where I am and what I'm doing. I didn't meant to venture so far into such well known territory; I'm fortunate this recorder doesn't mind listening to me, given how much I repeat myself lately.   
  
He's just shifting and will be comfortable again in a moment.   
  
I can't help but wonder what the Temple will give to this young one. Outside of it, we find the Jedi Temple a white tower of perfection, something for every child to point to when they see it, to tug at his parent's arm and cry "I want to be a Jedi." But when we go to test the infants and toddlers , when the Masters who are world-weary and tired in such a way that sleep will never touch them hold the small child in our arms and say "He is_ worthy_," we never speak of the hardships of the life in the Temple. No one says anything about what is ripped away from the child before he has a chance to know what he is missing until it's too late. Until he has nothing to fall back upon.   
  
There is a purity about this Obi-Wan I've never sensed in any of the other children I've tested or encountered. It reminds me of the few times I've shared a bed with another person – the heat rolls off some when they sleep so that you can feel it even without touching it. The Force exudes from this child like that – you can feel it, even from a distance. I'll have to ask Yoda if he knows of any other initiates brought into the Order with this quality.   
  
I'm growing sentimental, an emotion I fear doesn't sit well with me. There's something a little too soothing about holding this small child in my arms, something comforting. I could just take him back to the small bunk room in this ship and leave him until he wakes or we arrive at Coruscant. However, that would be a shock; to be with your mother in the evening and wake up alone in a strange place in the night or morning.   
  
I don't like the dark of space, especially hyperspace, for this reason. It's exactly like night; a point in time where all those dark thoughts and fears assert themselves, demand time and consideration that you don't give them during the better-lit hours. I am a Jedi; I know no fear or emotion.   
  
Hah.   
  
I don't remember a time I ever felt that way. I presume I must have as an initiate, but those pleasant moments faded with Master Dooku's training and lessons.   
  
You would think as a Jedi Master I wouldn't always feel one mistake away from dismissal, from being told that I've failed at the one thing I've lived my entire life for.   
  
Which of course makes me think of Xan.   
  
[Deep sigh; a few minutes pass]   
  
Maybe I've already made that fatal mistake._


	2. Chosen

As before, this all belongs to George Lucas. I make no money, I have no money, and I can give you no money if you sue me. Please just leave me be, because I probably won't stop writing because of it.   
  
Feedback is encouraged and enjoyed. I write for myself, but I love getting those little emails that tell me you've posted. :) Brightens my day.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
**Chapter Two - Chosen**   
  
There is a certain kind of child who appears in the crèche at the Jedi Temple. They aren't sought by the revered Jedi Masters; nor are they tested before being added to the groups of infants and small children. They are simply added to the group until some disappear in the first 'weeding out' ceremony, when these innocent children are sent on their way to orphanages, the AgriCorps, the Dipolmatic Corps, or some other training program under the awning and budget of the mighty Galactic Republic. Of course, that first farewell ceremony is only the first of many that each group of crechlings will experience, if they choose to be aware of them at all.   
  
The children are collectively called the Jedi Mudlarks, although most will never hear the term until they are Knights put on crèche duties. Once they encounter the term, many wonder if they were ever a part of that group.   
  
Mudlark is a term used within the orphanage systems of the Republic to refer to children left on the doorsteps of various institutions. Its origin comes from Dantooine tradition, where larks are a kind of bird that dwells in urban foliage. The males are a dun color, while the females are an even darker brown. They roll around in the mud that forms from the abundant rain that falls on the planet's surface and creates from the dirt roads and paths, covering their distinctive coloring. The young are iridescently colored, blue for females and green for males. However, they are also indistinguishable from rolling in the mud.   
  
The implication in the Temple is that the Jedi never know what they've received in terms of talent. Some are bright within the Force, although most of the children left to the Jedi are infants so young it can't be easily determined for a few months what their potential is. Of the Mudlarks, over three forths are dismissed from the Order by age seven, and of the remaining forth, only half of them are chosen as Padawans. Of those remaining, chosen to be trained, most never distinguish themselves, although there are a few isolated cases of Knights and Masters who were legendary and also began their Jedi career as a Mudlark.   
  
Although the actual figures aren't widely known in the Temple, the understanding within those who deal with the crechlings is that Mudlarks generally don't stay. There has been discussion within the Council and other influential Masters that perhaps this is a case of self-fulfilling prophecy; by not prohibiting those who teach the young Jedi to know the students' origins, they unconsciously treat the Mudlarks differently than the other students. Perhaps by expecting them to be dismissed, these children are treated differently, which causes their failures and eventual dismissal.   
  
Qui-Gon Jinn was left on the Temple step on his third day of life, although no one in the Jedi Order would ever know that. His mother left him there with a datapad, and a small pendent carved from ebonite, tucked in his meager blanket, listing his name and her origins from the small Mid-Rim planet of Erieane. It also stated that she couldn't keep him but couldn't think of anyone else to turn to; the statement hinted at a deep mistrust of the Republic bureaucracy and institutions. No one ever saw her or heard from her again.   
  
This story was well known to Qui-Gon, who still had the pendent. From the time he learned the story well enough to tell it to himself, he never tired of hearing it from those who watched him. He considered himself a child of the Jedi, one whose entire life, from birth to death, was dedicated to the great Order. His entire existence was wrapped up in becoming a Jedi, one who was respected and loved, one who never turned his back on the tenets of the Code or the spirit of the Order itself. It an oddly haunting way, Qui-Gon Jinn, from a young age, dedicated himself not to the leaders of the Jedi Order, those who were on the Council and those who made governing decisions, not to the revered leaders and wise people of the Temple. He dedicated himself to the ideals of the Jedi. From the first, Qui-Gon was a man of principle.   
  
Five other students in Qui-Gon's age group were also Mudlarks, and they were good friends even though they didn't realize or understand the bond that they shared. Two, Eshe R'vare and Gy'si Keres, were clearly not Force sensitive, two, Kiok Quella and Terc Bisce, were sensitive, and Kiteran Niega was, like Qui-Gon, strongly Force sensitive.   
  
If one were to analyze the crèche Masters and how they behaved towards the group, there wasn't any kind of defining behavior that could be picked out, a glaring transgression between the tested Jedi children and the Mudlarks. However, the slight bias did exist, and the children, as they will do, especially when they are precocious, as most Jedi crechlings are, picked up on it. A group of them acted upon it, shunning the Mudlarks in a most un-Jedi-like fashion, although most of the other crechlings didn't seem to care, not finding the importance in the minor distinction.   
  
Lora Dax was the head of the group against the Mudlarks. She was tall, thin girl with a shock of dark hair and clear gray eyes that resembled the stormy oceans of Kamino. From the outset, she had a strong personality, the kind that attracted weaker people around her under the illusion of being protected. Her family was from the Outer Rim planet of Liat, and the common thought was that her parents were nobles there. There was no doubt, however, that she remembered them with much affection, if not accuracy.   
  
Qui-Gon could take her or leave her, having established between them by the age of five that she didn't intimidate him, nor he her. He much preferred to spend his time with the other Mudlarks, and Kit in particular. She was quieter than the others in the group, which for some reason drew him to her. There was something about the girl that seemed almost hidden, reserved, as though something about her were a prized possession that had been broken but was loved too much to be thrown out. She was a humanoid with complex auburn hair and dark, deep brown eyes which often seem to conceal something that words couldn't explain.   
  
The first of the two dismissals from the Order was a procedure that took place in the spring of the crechlings' eighth year, the second being when initiates were not chosen as Padawans at age thirteen. A few weeks before, the affected students, with the unspoken and incorrect implication that the situation didn't affect the students who remained behind, were to be notified of their imminent departure, a kind of juvenile warning to get their affairs in order before they were sent away.   
  
Master Craylin, the head of their age group in the crèche, had been obviously agitated for a few days before, and the students received a few afternoons off from their regular studies for all of the crèche Masters to confer about the standing of the children.   
  
Qui-Gon, Eshe, Gy'si, Kiok, Terc, and Kit all decided to spend the afternoon at the lake. Kiok, a Nautolan, stripped and dove right in, his head tentacles waving underwater as he pulled himself through. He appeared back on the surfaces, flipping them behind his head before looking at his friends still standing on the sandy beach. "C'mon! I know you're not all from wet worlds, but that doesn't mean the water's bad," he teased, splashing a little bit of water towards them.   
  
Kit raised her eyebrows and gave him an enigmatic smile. "We can't all swim that well," she replied, peeling off layers of her tunics and stretching out on her belly onto the sand, warmed by the artificial sun, in only her underclothes. The lake was set up to mirror Coruscant's sun cycles as they were before the weather had been mechanized. Occasionally, for some variety within the small area, storms cropped up and the skies turned dark with simulated clouds, although rain never fell. Sometimes, lightening even flashed and thunder crashed, as a rare treat.   
  
Eshe shrugged, her lekku twitching slightly. "Is it cold?" the Twi'lek asked, pulling off a few of her tunics to reveal her lavender skin. Jedi children were taught very young to be comfortable without clothing around others. Sex wasn't a matter of secrecy to them, and they would all undergo rituals eventually. Jedi would be poor guardians and mediators if sex held the glamour for them as it did for many other non-Jedi. Terc shoved her gently, making her stumble and splash out into the shallows, and grinned at her.   
  
"Not too cold," the fair humanoid chuckled. He was close to her, like Qui-Gon was to Kit. Rumor had it that they had been brought to the Temple the same day, by the same Master. Kiok, however, just called it love, a word said in the hushed tones, something that the crèche Master must not hear. Even at this young age, they were discouraged, to what degree the children could be, from forming deep, lasting attachments that might be love.   
  
Gy'si stripped and splashed into the water after Kiok, the Mon Calamari enjoying the water as it splashed onto his face. He and Kiok disappeared under the gently lapping waves to search the bottom for anything interesting. The two aquatic ones would appear soon enough after they decided there was nothing of interest there.   
  
Qui-Gon sat in the sand next to Kit, pulling off his clothes as well to soak up the warmth and enjoy the afternoon off. The last few days had been filled with tests of sorts, weeding out the Force strength of each of the crechlings, although they knew nothing of what the information was for. Qui-Gon had felt the growing discomfort of his teachers when they had been near, however, and was confused as to this change. Usually they were confident and warm within the Force, not cold and detached.   
  
Not ten minutes had passed when Lora appeared, a few of her friends in tow, beaming as though she'd just been asked to become a Padawan. She trouped over to Qui-Gon and Kit, blocking their light and kicking a little sand on them. Qui-Gon looked up, his lips curling down before he said curtly, "What do you want?"   
  
"I just overheard something you'll find interesting," she replied, flipping her dark hair out of her flinty gray eyes. Terc and Eshe stopped playing in the shallows to regard the newcomers coolly, although they kept their distance.   
  
"Doubtful," Qui-Gon replied. Kit propped herself up onto her elbows to study that face, her own features having fallen into an unreadable mask that defined Jedi Knights more than thrice her age.   
  
Lora shrugged, her gleeful smile giving away the fact she wasn't as indifferent as she pretended. "This holiday will be some of your pals' last," the thin girl gloated, "so you might get out of it what you can."   
  
The taller boy stood, his hands clutching slightly at his sides. "What do you mean, last?"   
  
"It's a pretty simple idea."   
  
Qui-Gon pushed himself into her face, his foggy green eyes staring hard into hers, not noticing that her friends were gathering closer. Terc and Eshe left the shallows, approaching slowly as Kit eased herself to her feet, standing a little behind and off Qui-Gon's left shoulder. "Then explain it to me," he said slowly, his tone dripping of unsaid desires of what he'd like to do to her.   
  
"Some of us aren't meant to be Jedi," Lora replied airily. "Bye-bye to the Service Corps." She waved and smiled, glancing over her shoulder to visually include Eshe.   
  
"Liar." Over Lora's shoulder, Qui-Gon could see Eshe's face drop. Her lekku fell still, and the lavender tint of her skin began to fade a little, softening into a pinker version of its normal hue. Terc glanced at her then back to Lora, before taking a few steps towards the human.   
  
"You take that back, you bantha-kisser," he asserted.   
  
"Maybe your friend can dance for a living," she shot back.   
  
In an instant, Terc was on top of her, shoving her to the ground. Most of her group stood back, their expressions ranging between confidence in her victory to a desire not to be involved. Fighting among crechlings was no small matter. They tumbled in the sand, Terc managing to shove her face into it before she rolled and gained the advantage. Qui-Gon joined the fray, pulling Lora off of his friend. She took a swing at him, which hissed just millimeters away from the end of his nose. He moved back, stumbling in the sand and falling hard on his hind end.   
  
Lora laughed viciously at him as she towered over. "You wait and see," was all she said before walking away back through the sand. Just before leaving the small beach, she turned back. "I just wanted to be the first to tell you!"   
  
The next evening, about thirty of the crechlings were separated out of the group, Eshe R'vare and Gy'si Keres included, and taken away around dinnertime. Before the groups had been taken, the crèche Masters announced to all of them that there would be a few more final tests the next week before a two week holiday. Then the others were sent to eat in the small cafeteria as they normally did, and Terc, Kit, Qui-Gon, and Kiok had a hard time missing the superior look that covered Lora's face. A quiet, pensive atmosphere fell over the crechlings not taken with the Masters. They seemed to understand what was happening, that the move from crechling to initiate was one not all of them could make. No small group of friends was untouched; even Lora would lose two of her close friends.   
  
After dinner, the crechlings were moved to the large gym where the others were returned to the large group. Normally, this was a time for play, either working on some of the Force games that strengthened their skills or just playing around. However, this evening the atmosphere was subdued. The crechlings divided themselves as usual, and most sat down to play card games or just exist together. The thrum of conversation was quieter than normal, and the afternoon's separation was the topic of choice for everyone.   
  
Eshe walked over to her friends, her arms crossed tightly to her chest. She had retrieved a cream strip of fabric, which she had wrapped around her forehead and bound her lekku together. The tips occasionally quivered, but mostly they were strikingly still. The Mon Calamari walked a few steps behind her, his webbed hands shoved deep into the pockets on his leggings. Eshe walked through the loose circle and leaned against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, while Gy'si just looked down.   
  
"Lora was right," was all she said.   
  
Gy'si shrugged, his hands not moving. "The final tests we have next week are aptitude... They're going to use the results to decide where to send each of us. After the tests, we leave the next week."   
  
Silence fell over the group for a few long moments. "Well, maybe we can smuggle you away somewhere. Have you run away and hide you somewhere in the Temple," Terc said finally. "There's got to be some way you can stay here."   
  
"What's the point in running away if no one's going to come looking for you?" Eshe replied. She stood abruptly and staggered out of the group. The Twi'lek walked away before finding a place by herself to sit.   
  
"She's got a point," Gy'si said. "They don't want us, so running away isn't much of a problem." He sat down slowly, making a wet, clicking sound with his mouth, a Mon Cal version of a sigh.   
  
Qui-Gon frowned and got up, picking his way slowly to Eshe. He passed by Lora, who looked up and sneered. "You'd better give up your fascination with pathetic lifeforms. You're better off leaving her alone. She'll be gone in a few days."   
  
His green-blue eyes hardened. "And what of your friends? Why don't you abandon them?"   
  
"At least they're taking it like Jedi."   
  
Qui-Gon snorted. "A skill that does them a lot of good now," he said quietly as he walked away.   
  
Eshe curled away from him when he squatted next to her. "You... You think it will be nice out there?" she said hesitantly. Qui-Gon could hear a tremble in her voice, as well as her unspoken questions.   
  
"It won't be as nice here," he replied. Eshe turned slightly, a grateful look on her face marred by the tears that flowed down her cheeks, onto her neck, and down into her tunic. She curled up next to him, putting her head in his lap. Awkwardly, Qui-Gon stroked her hair, not sure what else to say as her body shook from silent sobs.   
  
"I just wanted to be a Jedi Healer," she said quietly. "Qui, I swear. - I didn't want to do anything amazing like save a planet or mediate the Senate. I just wanted to be a healer."   
  
"You can still do that, Eshe. Most healers aren't Jedi."   
  
"No... but the best ones are... I guess I'm just not good enough..." she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Even the last few words were choked off by a gasp for air and a lump in her throat.   
  
"Don't say that. You've got the heart for it."   
  
"Maybe."   
  
Qui-Gon was at a loss, a little distracted as he watched the same situation play out in every other small group scattered across the floor. Even Lora seemed genuinely upset by the whole situation. Eshe and his friends had gotten to Gy'si to sit, although he still looked completely untouched. He wondered if that was some king of denial, as though the Mon Cal could pretend that nothing was wrong.   
  
He looked down at Eshe's head in his lap, wondering, _So what** does** make you good enough to stay?_   
  
A week and a few days later, a group of thirty-three crechlings huddled, talking quietly and nervously among themselves, on a windy landing dock which jutting out from the southern side of the Jedi Temple. Near them stood a larger group, about seventy, of initiates past the age to be chosen as Padawans. Two Jedi Masters stood with them, their arms folded deep inside their robes. To the side, slightly sheltered by an outcrop, stood another small, silent group of three more Masters and two Knights, as well as two new initiates, not even two days used to the title.   
  
No other souls in the Temple were brave enough to witness this little advertised rite of passage for many of the children who passed through the hallowed doors.   
  
Qui-Gon refused to pull up the hood to his outer cloak, which whipped around him. He glanced at the dark-haired girl next to him, also showing the same breed of defiance with her uncovered head and stormy eyes. "I didn't expect to see anyone else here to see them off," he said quietly, unsure of the response that this would earn him.   
  
Lora shrugged, a gesture almost lost in the heavy wind. "I didn't figure they'd get the send-off they deserved. It kind of makes you think, knowing that all of them were loved by someone here..."   
  
He nodded in response, a little shocked but what almost seemed like an admission of weakness, coming from her. "Do you think it's right?" he ventured.   
  
Again, the almost invisible shrug, then Lora spread her arms apart. "Look at this crowd. Do you really think it matters?"   
  
The two watched their former classmates herded onto the ship docked there. Qui-Gon watched as their heads turned around, looking for those faces about which Lora had spoken, the ones of the people who had loved them. Both Eshe and Gy'si found his, although that seemed little comfort as he watched the others' faces slid over his, unrecognizing, uncaring. Then they were gone, all of them, and the ship disappeared from view into the traffic lines that criss-crossed Corsucant.   
  
Qui-Gon couldn't come up with a good response to Lora's question. 


	3. Choices

I'd like to apologize for my very long hiatus... I have no decent excuses, so I will offer none. However, I am going to attempt to do better, and try to write isomething/i every day, even if it doesn't constitute a complete post. Feedback helps motivation, though, just so you all are aware.:)  
  
See previous chapters for disclaimers and other randoms notes, ramblings, etc.  
  
()()()()()()()()()()()()  
  
Chapter Three - Choices

From the Private Journals of Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master:

_I can remember long nights from my apprenticeship, ones where I was sure that I was completely alone, the only soul awake inside the Jedi Temple. I could hear my Master sleeping in the next room, his soft, rumbling snore reverberating through our small apartment. Those nights were filled with the quiet desperation of a child who knew, even without being told, that no good would come from staying awake, that the morning would only bring exhaustion and failure, but lacked the strength and ability to calm himself enough to finally sleep._

_Insomnia as an adult hasn't really brought a lot of comfort to that scenario, though. I've long since learned how to master my body rhythms, which makes going without a night's sleep almost routine. But mentally, the situation is much the same. My mind races with the what-ifs I'd rather not contemplate. I'll go to my window and study the lights of Coruscant or go into one of the gardens and attempt to meditate. But there is an unnatural silence to the area that envelopes me._

_Kit's second padawan is to be knighted tomorrow. They went before the Council a week ago to petition for her acceptance as a full member of the Jedi Order. Of course they welcomed the young female Mirialian, a slight, small thing with pale skin, dark hair, and ritual tattoos on her hands and forearms. Nih'ela will be an asset to the Intelligence Corps of the Jedi Order. She posses a spectacularly sharp wit, as well as a level of accommodation and adaptation extraordinary even among the Jedi.  
_

_Kit, of course, asked me to attend the ceremony and even help Nih'ela maintain her vigil until dawn. Traditionally, the night before a padawan is raised to knight or a knight to master, they maintain a vigil in the Hall of Remembrance, surrounded by the candles honoring the spirits of Jedi who have passed into the Force. Masters and Knights who have been close friends and mentors are encouraged to keep some of the vigil with her._

_I had spent some time with Nih'ela, working on her connection to the Living Force. As Kit got older and stronger in her innate abilities, it became very clear that she was deeply connected to the Unifying Force. She is still as quiet as ever, if not more so, but she demonstrated aptitude with visions. She knows, and has known for a long time, more than she lets on._

_[Soft exhalation and movement; clink of dishes and the sound of metal against metal.]_

_A few weeks after I had to leave Xan on Telos, she told me that she knew what his fate was going to be from when he was only a couple years my padawan. When I asked her why she never said anything, she simply shrugged and gave me a piercing look, knowing what my question really was._

_"If you could have done anything to change his fate," she had replied slowly, "and I don't think you could have, it would have had to been done the day you brought him to the Temple." Something in her eyes shifted, and she withdrew for a moment. I had wanted to scream at her shouting Yoda's platitude about the future being in motion, take her by the shoulders, and demand what I could have done._

_Then her eyes had lifted, and... I can't explain it. She saw through me. I felt as though she witnessed every event that would transpire in my lifetime in an instant, every pain and every joy I would ever experience. My anger then died in my throat, and I felt another emotion that was supposedly not within the Jedi repertoire: _**fear**.__

_Kit drew a deep breath then and folded her arms into her sleeves. "Don't let Xanatos destroy you. The Force can redeem you in its own time, even if it can't choose your destiny." Her brow furrowed, and the rich russet eyes held mine. _ _  
  
[Whistle of a tea kettle and movement; clink of dishes and pouring of liquid.] _

_I should be happier on such an evening. My dearest friend's padawan is to join the Order tomorrow, ascending to a level towards which she has been working since the day she was brought here. But mostly what consumes my mind is what the difference between Nih'ela and Xan is. Why did she succeed where he could not? All padawans are given a final test, something that proves their dedication to the Jedi Order and its ideals, something that uses their extensive training._

_[Sipping of liquid]_

_I'm sure this is what my master always meant by my being too much in the Living Force and not enough in the Unifying Force. How many times have I thought over his training? How many times have I tried to find the turning point in my former padawan's career? Where did I make the crucial decision?_

_It's not there._

_Everything I did was on instinct, feeling correct. I don't mean to say that I was the perfect master – far from it – but I can't look back and pinpoint that moment when I went wrong. With the Living Force as my guide, every decision made was, at that moment, the closest one to correct I could make. _

_Decisions which left him on Telos and me alone in a starship, torn to shreds._

_I was a fool, to think that_ **my**_ training would be the hardest thing I would have to endure._

_[Sipping of liquid. Moments pass; a soft, disjointed breath followed by a sigh]_

_I can't help but think of the boy I brought to the Temple a few weeks ago. Obi-Wan. _

_Will he make it to Nih'ela's place? Will he hold a vigil in the depths of the Jedi Temple to greet the sunrise flushed with pride and achievement on becoming a Jedi Knight? Will his master proudly cut away his braid? Will he be accepted by the Council and eventually train padawans of his own?_

_Or will he be reassigned to the DiploCorps or AgriCorps? Will he be huddled with other crèche members on a cold docking ramp in the late evening with only a few Jedi to witness his ignominious departure?_

_[Sipping of liquid interspersed with long pauses]_

_I wonder what is going through Kit's mind tonight. It is a very difficult thing to decide to take on a padawan. Not only do you vow to teach them and mentor them, but you also have a set of vows that you take which the padawan will never learn until he takes his own protégé. A Jedi Master must put his padawan's life before his own in all things. Being a member of this order is no easy thing, for master or padawan. You train a student for ten or fifteen years, and during that time you become guardian for that apprentice._

_When Iaren was raised, I don't think I slept well for a few weeks. You learn to be reassured by the soft breathing in the middle of the night. In the closest relationships, you become a dear friend to your padawan, eventually function more on the level of equals than as master and apprentice. Iaren and I were friends, but never on the level of intimacy which you hope to have._

_I know I never reached that level with Master Dooku. I think I was more of a challenge to him, something that was interesting more in an academic way than anything else._

_If you had asked me before Telos, I would have said that Xan and I were on that level, but I know now it was only an illusion. I just can't tell if I created the illusion or if he did to satisfy me. He knew I regarded him as the son I would never have, although I see now that he never forgot his father, never managed to put aside that glimmer of perfection young children cast around their parents or surrogate parents. It takes age and maturity to see the adults in one's life as real people with faults. I suppose that's why the Jedi are paired up in early adolescence instead of childhood._

_You're less likely to project perfection then._

_Iaren was a learning experience. She led me through training her as much as I helped her grow in the Force. It was a partnership, if not an extremely close one. I knew nothing more taking her on as my padawan than I wanted to be different from Master Dooku. _

_My training methods would _**not**_ be his._

_It worked well enough with her, so I changed little with Xan. I should have known better, though. They were completely different. Iaren was quiet and reserved, quick to think but slow to voice her opinions. She missed very little and was empathetic in nearly all things. Xan was quicker with his tongue and his wit, seeing the large situation but missing details that Iaren could pick up. Through his training, that slowly changed, and he developed an eye for detail, though it was never as innate as Iaren's. He lacked her empathy as well._

_Not to say that I didn't modify my methods at all, of course._

_I just let my pride of Xan blind me to the truth that he was; arrogant and self-possessed._

_What's the word Mace likes to use? Legacy. Xan was to be my legacy, which blinded me to what he was. In the end I cared for him too much and disciplined him too little. What's the adage? I think it's Corellian: Spare the rod and spoil the child. But what happens if you grip the rod too tightly, have the child more intimate with it than you?_

_[Long draught from cup, clink of dishes]_

_This is supposed to be about Nih'ela and Kit. I never fail to drag myself down, do I?_

_You have all this talk about how there is no emotion, there is no passion. I should be able to put this whole thing behind me, shouldn't I? But I don't know how. I can immerse myself in the Living Force, I can fight until I collapse from exhaustion, but I've yet to learn how to outrun my thoughts._

_I can only be as I am, championing the fight of the underdog, the pathetic lifeform that I find that doesn't seem to have his niche yet._

_Why?_

_Because I am that lifeform, I suppose. I don't belong on the Council, despite popular opinion, I don't belong as a master to other Jedi, I don't belong in the system that often cares more for procedure than integrity._

_I'm just the Rogue who's a damn fool always following his quixotic notions of the Living Force._

_[Clatter of dishes, running water, a sigh]_

_A damn fool who learned, again, that the bitterest betrayals can come from the ones you love most._

_Problem is, I can't quite buy into the idea that I was the betrayed. Xan wouldn't have turned on me if I hadn't somehow failed him.  
_

()()()()()()()()()()()()_  
_

Nih'ela knelt in the center of the Hall of Remembrance, a small candle positioned before her in the center of the huge room. Lying next to it was her lightsaber. Her hands were positioned on either side of her head, with her forehead pressed against the cool tile floor. Meditation positions were as unique as the Jedi who utilized them, but Qui-Gon recognized this one as one he'd show the padawan many years ago. It was a favorite of his, as it forced the user to concentration beyond physical discomfort, to take in the here and now of the Force, as opposed to the current feelings of the body.

Kit stood to the side, her hands hidden within the sleeves of her thick, dark, outer robe. Her hair was tied back loosely from her face, and her eyes were concentrated on her padawan, even as Qui-Gon approached to stand next to her.

They stood in companionable silence for a long time, though the minutes never stretched it into discomfiture. Eventually, the smaller Jedi Master broke the silence, her eyebrows flicking higher onto her forehead as she spoke quietly yet still distinctly. "I wondered if you would come."

Resisting the urge to shrug, Qui-Gon instead clasped his hands behind his back and shuffled his feet a little. "I didn't know if I should or not."

Kit's face quirked into a half-smile, and she finally turned her eyes from Nih'ela to her old friend. "I keep thinking some day your skull will loose it's incredible thickness."

He grunted. Kit blinked slowly before looking away from him. "You won't get to skulk forever, you know. The Council plans to send you away, on a real mission this time."

"Shouldn't we be discussing Nih'ela and the difficult evening she's enduring? The wonderful receptions she'll receive tomorrow?"

Kit shifted her weight, regarding her padawan in a silent moment. Her eyes looked almost heavy, as though they were beholding something beyond her comprehension. "Do you know what makes me the most proud about her?" she finally asked, not bothering to look at Qui-Gon. He inclined his head silently, not needing to reply and knowing that she would speak her mind in her own good time.

As he waited, he watched the light dance across the floor, the play of the light and shadows of multitudes of eternal flames each positioned in front of an individual's name, all spilling onto the floor of the Hall. _This is a legacy,_ Qui-Gon suddenly though. _The millions who have died in the service of the Jedi Order, their ashes brought here for eternity, watched over by a single flame._

"She made her own decision to stay."

Kit's voice cut across his thoughts, although he made no sign that he'd not been considering her question. "It's not unheard of these days to go through the entire training process only to ask for dismissal instead of acceptance into the Order. But she didn't decide to stay for me. She did it for herself, because she wanted to. Being a Jedi is actually what she wants to do.

"Perhaps that is one of the worse flaws in our system. So much emphasis is put on the rank of Jedi Knight. We should be more concerned with the process than the end result. You can't have such a difficult existence without the option of refusing it. No good would ever come of forcing padawans and initiates to become Jedi just because they are here."

Qui-Gon suddenly felt tired, burdened by every lesson he'd learned as a padawan. "And what about those of us who became Knights to prove a point? For pride or defiance? To prove we could do it?"

"The rest of us are too wrapped up in our own reasons to notice," the smaller woman replied wryly.

A sigh was out of Qui-Gon's mouth before he could stop it. "Perhaps we ought to be grateful that anyone at all reaches the rank of Knight." Kit resettled her arms, a gesture indicating her agreement.

"In the end, you can't change the decision another person makes." Kit's russet eyes bore into his almost painfully. Qui-Gon shifted his arms from his back to his chest, crossing them tightly and refusing to rise to Kit's unspoken challenge.

She waited a few more moments then shook her head. "I'm sorry, friend. I shouldn't ruin this vigil by bringing up things that you obviously don't wish to speak about."

The taller Jedi gave a soft smile. "The Knight you've trained will be a credit to our Order," he replied.

Kit nodded slightly in response, before adding quietly, "At least, as much as any of us are."


End file.
